Produced by Chris Whitehead and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
THE
MANŒUVRING MOTHER.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"THE HISTORY OF A FLIRT."
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER,
GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1842.
LONDON:
F. SHOBERL, JUN., 51, RUPERT STREET, HAYMARKET,
PRINTER TO H. R. H. PRINCE ALBERT.
THE MANŒUVRING MOTHER.
CHAPTER XII.
Sir Foster Kerrison's entrance into the great drawing-room at Wetheral
was an epoch in its annals. It was the precursor of stirring matter.
Lady Wetheral received him with great amenity of manner; and any other
gentleman might have perceived a look of anxious care in her eyes.
Sir Foster, however, saw nothing; he did not even observe that her
ladyship was alone. Habit directed him to a seat in the direction of
the lounging-chair, which stood in the boudoir, and when his hat was
placed upon a table, there was nothing to interfere with his _dolce far
niente_. Sir Foster sat down, tapping his boot and winking his eye, in
happy ignorance of coming events.
Lady Wetheral allowed some little time to elapse in silence, ere she
commenced proceedings; but, when Sir Foster had taken root, and looked
steadily deposited for three hours at least, the case was gently
opened. Lady Wetheral drew near, and seated herself opposite her
neighbour.
"Sir Foster Kerrison, I beg your attention for a few moments."
Sir Foster made no reply, but a rather quickened tapping of the boot
assured her she was heard. Miss Kerrison had innocently enough supplied
the key to her father's meaning, and movements.
"Perhaps, my dear Sir Foster, you are somewhat surprised at the absence
of Lucy and Clara."
Sir Foster looked round the room, and smiled.
"Clara is not allowed to return again to your society, my dear Sir
Foster, for very essential and painful reasons." Lady Wetheral paused,
but she might have continued _ad libitum_ for hours: Sir Foster neither
perceived the absence of his daughter and Clara, nor understood the
drift of her remarks. Lady Wetheral's quickness detected at once the
obtuseness of her companion; she perceived the uselessness of hints
and sighs, and broken sentences, in the present instance. Tom Pynsent
yielded at once to their influence, but Sir Foster required a _coup de
main_ to rouse his feelings and attention. Another line of conduct was
therefore chosen.
"Sir Foster Kerrison, you have behaved very ill to my daughter!"
"God bless me!" cried Sir Foster, almost starting. "Eh! what?"
"If your intentions are not honourable, Sir Foster Kerrison, I, as a
mother, demand a change of conduct on your part."
"Lucy ill, or any thing?" demanded Sir Foster, in surprise.
"_Miss Kerrison_ is well," replied Lady Wetheral, with emphasis.
"Oh, umph!"
Sir Foster sank again comfortably into the arm-chair.
Provoking man! Was there no way of chaining such a creature? Her
ladyship's patience was inexhaustible. Perhaps a still more decided
manner might effect the purpose. Lady Wetheral took a high tone.
"Sir Foster Kerrison, the neighbourhood have reported you are
addressing my daughter. I wish to know if you are aware of this
report: Miss Wetheral shall not be trifled with, Sir Foster!"
The tapping increased in velocity, and Sir Foster's eye winked with
prodigious rapidity. Her ladyship became gradually more resolute and
parental.
"If my child is to be made wretched, Sir Foster Kerrison, a mother's
offended heart will urge its claims to be heard, and her lips will
express its horror at such baseness. She will tell you how detestably
wicked it is to come, day after day, and sit hours, with an innocent,
trusting girl, who fondly believes there is truth and honour in your
soul. No parent can mistake the aim of your visits, Sir Foster, but I
will know if it is meant in honour. I will hear no base apologies, no
wicked evasions--is my daughter to be Lady Kerrison, or is she to pine
away in solitary, unrequited attachment? Is Miss Wetheral to become
pointed at as a refused and melancholy picture of disappointed love;
or is my lovely Clara to be your happy, affectionate wife, Sir Foster
Kerrison?" The lady's voice sounded agitated and heart-broken at the
conclusion of her speech.
Sir Foster looked bewildered. He heard the epithets "base" and
"wicked," without comprehending their purport, or having a connecting
idea of the sentences which fell from Lady Wetheral's lips with such
voluble earnestness. He only heard distinctly the concluding words, "Is
my lovely Clara to be your happy, affectionate wife, Sir Foster?" and
he replied with quiet nonchalance,
"If you please--oh yes--eh, what?"
Lady Wetheral smiled very complacently as she rose from her seat.
"You have made me very happy, by proposing for my Clara, dear Sir
Foster, and we will now return into the boudoir."
Lady Wetheral talked all the way from the drawing-room into her
boudoir, while Sir Foster followed, humming and staring, perfectly
aware something had happened, yet not quite awake to its nature.
"I am delighted our little society is not to be broken up, my dear Sir
Foster: _now_, you know, every thing will continue in its own charming
routine--you will be in your arm-chair now every day, as a thing of
course. Sit down, dear Sir Foster; I will open this window; the spring
flowers are early and delicious this season. I perceive Lucy and Clara
walking in the garden. Ah, I see you have taken possession of your old
seat, dear Sir Foster."
Miss Kerrison and Clara were quickly at the door of the boudoir. Clara
had seen the signal; the window was at last thrown open.
"Lucy, Lucy, your father is come; let us return to the house," she
cried, hastily retracing her steps. Lucy followed instinctively.
"Lucy Kerrison," said Lady Wetheral, taking her hand the moment she
appeared, "I have very extraordinary news for you! how are you inclined
to receive a mother-in-law, my dear love!"
"Are _you_ going to marry papa?" asked Lucy Kerrison, in extremity of
surprise.
"No, my love; Sir John is in excellent health in his study," replied
her ladyship, smiling.
"Oh yes, how foolish! I forgot; but I fancied you in earnest, and I
could only think of yourself, Lady Wetheral. Papa, are you going to be
married? Oh, don't marry! pray, don't marry, papa, and I will return
to Ripley with you: but it's only a joke, is it papa?" and poor Lucy
Kerrison became very pale.
"My dear love, you really tremble; but I assure you there is no need
of any alarm. You will not fear Clara as a new relation: you will lead
a very easy life with Clara, my dear Lucy! Your papa has proposed for
Clara, my dear young friend. Are you sorry?"
Lucy Kerrison seated herself in perfect silence and astonishment. Lady
Wetheral resumed.
"Clara, my love, Sir Foster has decided upon taking away my companion:
he has asked for you to ornament and enliven Ripley, my love. How can I
refuse Sir Foster Kerrison; and yet how can I part with my only child,
my only companion, since the marriage of Mrs. Tom Pynsent and Lady
Ennismore!"
Miss Kerrison fixed her gaze upon Clara and her father alternately, but
she did not speak: her ideas were too confused to admit of speech, and
she watched in stupid amazement the scene that was passing before her.
Lady Wetheral approached Sir Foster, leading Clara.
"Rise, man of happy fortunes, and receive the boon I tender to you
according to your wishes. Make my child happy, and I must reluctantly
consider myself fortunate in giving her to a good, indulgent man, such
as Sir Foster Kerrison."
Sir Foster was noted for taciturnity, and inveterate absence of mind,
in society; but he was not an absolute fool, and he was a great
admirer of beauty. He had a strong suspicion in his mind that a
young lady was on the point of being forced upon him; but he hated
altercation, and the lady was young and particularly handsome; besides,
Lady Wetheral was insisting upon it, he had made proposals, and it
was useless to contend. Sir Foster therefore rose and bowed very
gallantly--considering it was Sir Foster; and that bow recognised
and authorised the whole affair. Lady Wetheral's care was ended upon
Clara's matrimonial prospects.
Miss Kerrison at length found words to express her deep surprise, and
indeed pleasure, considering her father really meant to marry; but she
confessed the thing was a mystery to her; she had seen no attention on
her father's part to Clara--never! As to his sitting three hours every
day at Wetheral, that was nothing--he did so at many places. She never
saw any liking on Clara's part either--altogether, it was the oddest
piece of courtship she had ever seen or read of.
Sir Foster having bowed and reseated himself, heard all his daughter's
remarks in silence. He smiled and tapped his boot fast, which always
denoted concurrence, or was a symptom of pleasure as far as it went;
therefore, Miss Kerrison continued.
"I am sure, papa, you only visit here as you did at Hatton and Lidham,
and in Shrewsbury; you never made love to Miss Wycherly or Miss
Spottiswoode; did you? And you never spoke to, or looked at Clara that
I could see? I cannot make it all out! I am sure, Clara, you would have
mentioned it to me if you had liked papa, or if you thought papa liked
you. I never shall understand it. Are you going to marry soon, papa?"
"All in good time, my dear Lucy," replied Lady Wetheral, pleased with
the admirable issue of her scheme; "there are many little things to be
done before Clara can be given up to you. You, my dear Lucy, must be my
daughter when Clara goes to Ripley; you must stay with me then, at poor
lonely Wetheral."
"My dear Lady Wetheral, I will often come to see you, but I am sure
Clara will require my assistance some time at Ripley. You don't know
how particular papa is in eating! Clara will be some time finding out
what papa likes, and till then!--oh, Clara, till then!" Miss Kerrison
lifted up her hands and eyes. Sir Foster only smiled at his daughter's
insinuation; he never offered to excuse or remove the implied hint from
the minds of his fair one, or her mother. Miss Kerrison proceeded with
lively energy,--
"Oh, Clara, I am very glad you mean to marry papa, though I never shall
understand how it was brought about. I shall be released from managing
the establishment, which I do not like. I hope you will get money from
papa for every thing; I can assure you I had dreadful work to squeeze
out a few pounds, and the fishmonger is my abhorrence: papa and the
fishmonger have pretty scenes together!"
Sir Foster Kerrison chuckled, and winked his eye with nervous rapidity.
"Yes, papa, you may laugh, but the fishmonger did not. Do you know,
Clara, papa kicked the man and his basket of soles and salmon out of
the kitchen, and down the drive at Ripley."
Another chuckle betrayed the delight Sir Foster felt at the
recollection of his prowess. Lady Wetheral however thought it politic
to close the subject.
"Tradespeople are very tiresome, my dear Lucy, and it requires a
particular degree of patience to deal with itinerant fish-people. I
don't wonder at your poor father losing temper. One moment, my love, if
you please."
She rose and quitted the boudoir, followed by Miss Kerrison, who
accompanied her to the breakfast-room. Her ladyship then expressed and
explained her wishes.
"My dear Lucy, it was time to have mercy upon your father and his
bride elect, therefore I begged you to withdraw. They must have a
_tête-à-tête_, poor things, to explain their feelings and inquire into
each other's habits and tastes. And now, my love, since events have
unfolded themselves so rapidly this morning, I must counsel and advise
with you. I think it prudent that you should return to Ripley this
morning, Lucy; therefore the carriage shall be at your service in two
hours." Tears rushed into Lucy Kerrison's eyes.
"You know, my dear love, a separation _now_ is merely a few hours'
absence; something more to smile at than weep over--perhaps a day or
two, not more. You are aware of your good father's infirmity, Lucy; and
I trust to your good sense and kindness to remind him occasionally of
his engagement; you understand me, my love."
"Yes, but papa forgets so sadly. After all, he may go off, and sit
three hours at Lidham again; and how can I detain him, Lady Wetheral?"
"Circumstances are very different, my love! Yet I do not say Sir Foster
may not require a little prompting _sometimes_; his absence of mind is
certainly a disease: perhaps, if you withheld his cane, or concealed
his coat--Pelham, you know, might be let into the secret, to watch his
master; or, if you sent a message by him, to freshen his recollection;
but you will do every thing well, I am sure, my love;--no one more _au
fait_ and clever than Lucy Kerrison."
Thus flattered and counselled, Miss Kerrison undertook to watch her
father's whereabouts, and Pelham was to be instructed to turn his
master's thoughts every morning to his regular ride towards Wetheral.
With these "advices" upon her mind, poor Lucy was consigned to the
carriage, bearing with her many delightful compliments and invitations
to consider Wetheral her second home--many pleasing anticipations of
the future--and much triumph that another was going to undertake the
management of Ripley, her father's violence, and the frightful contests
between himself and the fishmonger.
Clara assured her mother, when Sir Foster had departed, "that though
the _tête-à-tête_ had not been a chatty affair, yet such taciturnity
proved a very quiet, mild character, which would suit her own warmth
of temper. She was very content to be Lady Kerrison, and have Lucy for
a companion. Sir Foster loved quiet, therefore he would not interfere
with her tastes, or quarrel with her actions. She and Lucy would enjoy
themselves, and perhaps be a great deal from home." Lady Wetheral quite
acquiesced in Clara's prognostics; there was only one little affair to
get over, and _that_ would soften by time and reason, she trusted.
"I mean your father's objection, my love; I dare say he will be
horrified at first, because he fancies Sir Foster a little warm in his
temper."
"I don't believe he is warm-tempered," replied Clara, haughtily. "If I
don't complain, no one need make any objection."
"Exactly so, my love; who can possibly judge of another's tastes?
What I consider impetuous, another person may think simply vivacious,
and so on. I think, my love, we will not say any thing to your father
just now; suppose we allow the subject to remain in abeyance for a few
days? Sir John has such very narrow views of worldly advantages; such
peculiarly contracted notions upon the luxuries of life."
Clara differed from Lady Wetheral. She considered it better sense to
state the circumstance at once to her father, since he must become a
principal in the affair sooner or later. She would herself inform him
of Sir Foster's proposal, and if his objections were not to be reasoned
with, she must act for herself.
Such was Clara's determination, and such the intrepidity of her temper
at sixteen years of age. Ungovernable in feeling, and haughty in
disposition, she held powerful sway over her mother's mind; but it was
yet to be proved whether her father also would yield to her domineering
and intractable spirit. Lady Wetheral shrunk from the combat which must
ensue between parental authority and filial disobedience; it would be
a combat far surpassing the skirmish which preceded Lady Ennismore's
engagement, for her husband had seen the error of his frequent
compliance with her wishes, and his commands had been peremptory in the
matter of Sir Foster Kerrison.
Clara's high spirit would not stoop to commit her mother, by
acknowledging her active management in procuring the proposal, but it
might transpire that she had a deep share in its contrivance; and she
dreaded the calm bitterness of her husband's reproaches. Clara's temper
was equal to a thousand storms, and a thousand untoward events: "Clara
therefore must fight her own battle; she was fully equipped for the
war of words which must ensue, and her lofty spirit scorned the alarms
which subjugated meaner and more timid minds." Clara only smiled in
contempt at her mother's reasoning.
Sir John inquired at dinner what had become of his young and agreeable
friend Miss Kerrison, who had so suddenly disappeared. His lady's reply
was perfectly satisfactory, and precluded all further remark: "Miss
Kerrison had been summoned home by Sir Foster." The dinner passed in
harmony, and on Sir John's part, with more than his usual vivacity. He
seemed to feel relieved by the absence of all associations connected
with Ripley. How little did he anticipate the blow which awaited the
withdrawal of the servants, to fall heavily upon his heart!
Clara opened her subject with the indifference of a person who
had quite made up their mind to all consequences, and dared every
opposition; she raised her wine-glass to sip its contents with
consummate nonchalance, and coolly commenced her disclosure.
"Papa, I think it right to inform you of any material step which I may
take, therefore I beg to tell you I have accepted Sir Foster Kerrison."
Sir John appeared for a moment stunned. Clara resumed--
"Sir Foster Kerrison pleases me; and, though my tastes may clash with
others, I alone am judge of what will make me happy; therefore, I have
resolved to marry Sir Foster, papa."
Sir John's eyes were fixed upon his lady's face in silence. She read
their expression, and shrunk under its deep meaning. A flood of tears
fortunately relieved the painful sense of self-upbraiding, and proved
a fruitful theme by which to evade the subject so galling to her
husband's mind.
"Really, Sir John, I am so enfeebled by constant flurry of mind, and my
poor dear girls' marriages, that a word or a look throws me into fits
of nervousness. I cannot imagine why you should stare at me in that
odd way, when I never could endure a fixed gaze; particularly when my
spirits are low, and my nerves so shaken."
"Clara," said her father, calmly, "what events have led to your
acceptance of Sir Foster? when did you accept him, and where have you
met him since your sisters' nuptials? Tell me candidly how all this has
happened."
"Oh! yes, certainly, papa. Sir Foster has been visiting me here some
time."
"I never saw him, or heard of the visit, Clara," replied Sir John,
mildly.
"You are always in your study, papa. People seldom ask for you
now," was Clara's observation, as she helped herself to preserved
strawberries with perfect coolness of manner.
"Gertrude," said Sir John, "you have concealed all this from me, and
disobeyed my strong injunctions to allow no intimacy with Sir Foster
Kerrison. Since my wife persists in opposing me, I cannot be surprised
at a child defying me."
"I never asked Sir Foster to Wetheral," faltered the lady; "his
visits were not the consequences of any invitation from me; you have
never seen him here, my love: I never ventured to ask him to dinner:
I never held out an inducement to attract him here. It has been Sir
Foster's own act and deed to propose to my daughter; and his calling
occasionally was very natural, while Lucy staid with us. You brought
him in yourself one day; but really all this violent altercation
destroys my nerves, and undermines my health." Lady Wetheral sunk back
in her chair, closed her eyes, and applied her vinaigrette.
Sir John was silent for some moments, as if his thoughts and feelings
were too powerful to produce utterance. Clara did not, or would not,
perceive his emotion; she continued eating her biscuit and strawberries
with calm unconcern, not at all disconcerted by the deep silence which
followed her mother's speech. Sir John at length rose, and, with great
solemnity of tone and manner, addressed his youngest daughter, who was
seated a silent spectator of the whole scene.
"Chrystal, it is time for me to take some steps towards removing
you from such examples. I shall accompany you to Brierly to-morrow,
and place you, for the present, under Boscawen's care. He will take
charge of you till I can claim you in peace. When I have deposited
you in safety, I shall remove from Wetheral for ever. Your mother and
sister will accompany me into Scotland, as I shall reside in future at
Fairlee."
Nothing could exceed Lady Wetheral's terror at these words, spoken so
calmly and so decidedly. She rushed towards her husband, and seized his
arm with nervous trepidation.
"Don't go into Scotland, John! oh, don't go there, to horrid Fairlee!
I shall die there--no, no; say you will not take me from Wetheral,
and I will promise any thing, John!" Her ladyship's alarm became very
powerful, and she sank to the ground. Christobelle would have flown
to the bell to summon Thompson, but her father forbade the action; he
begged that such scenes might never be disclosed to the eyes of the
household. He raised her, and laid her on a sofa, but it was some time
ere her senses returned. She wandered evidently for some hours in her
conversation, and was at length placed in bed, under the influence of a
powerful narcotic. Christobelle watched by her as she slept.
Sir John Wetheral felt all this most painfully; but he was now awake
to the weakness of his conduct in placing such implicit confidence in
his lady's system of education; he felt too late how indolently he had
succumbed to her tears and reproaches against his own better judgment,
even to the sacrifice of Julia; and now he was resolved to save Clara,
at the risk of sacrificing for ever all future hopes of domestic
felicity. Her ladyship's fearful apprehensions of Fairlee threatened an
illness: but Sir John was firmly resolved to quit Shropshire; to leave
at once the scene of deception which irritated his mind; to save, if
possible, the fate which awaited Clara, should her evil genius give her
into the power of Sir Foster Kerrison.
Christobelle was still watching in her mother's room, when she opened
her eyes, and faintly called for Thompson. Christobelle did not reply,
but walked softly to the side of her bed, to inquire how she felt after
her long sleep. Her eyes were heavy, for she closed them as she spoke.
"Is that you, Thompson? I have had such horrible dreams: your master is
going into Scotland, and poor Miss Clara will be taken away from Sir
Foster, after all my trouble."
"It is me, mamma," whispered Christobelle.
"Well, well," replied her mother, petulantly, "never mind who it
is, you are equally included in this dreadful Fairlee business. I
shall never live to reach Scotland: the dullness of the place--no
neighbourhood--all old married men--not a match there fit for
Clara--altogether it will kill me."
A silence of some moments ensued, and she spoke again in low
complaining tones.
"Your poor father's violence has made me seriously ill, Bell, and he
must lay my death at his own door. Sir Foster has been extremely ill
used, and all the neighbourhood will think so, after his proposal being
accepted, and his attachment made so public! My poor child Clara! it is
very cruel by her, and the affair has broken my heart."
There was again a pause, so continued, that Christobelle believed her
mother slept; at last she heard her name pronounced.
"Bell."
"Yes, mamma, I am close to you."
"Perhaps, Bell, as you have influence with your father, you can find
out his intentions with respect to Sir Foster. I can't think he would
break off such a match, but I am too unwell to enter upon the subject
with him now. Go down, Bell, and manage your father, as I used to do,
only bring me some intelligence."
"Shall I ask the question for you, mamma?"
"Don't be stupid, Bell; ask questions? Nonsense! You will never get
the truth from man by a direct question, foolish child. You know what
I mean; now go and glean his intentions with cleverness; it will be
practice for you; there, no reply, Bell; no sentimentality; I detest
it!"
Christobelle left the room, not quite comprehending her mother's
words. She could not understand the "gleaning," neither did she know
the meaning of the word "sentimentality," but she went to her father's
study, and found him in his arm-chair, the candles standing before him
unsnuffed. It was nearly twelve o'clock when she entered. Her father
held out his hand, and drew her to him.
"You are still up, my child, and it is very late."
She told him her mother had slept long, and was very anxious to know
whether he really intended to quit Wetheral.
"Your mamma sent you to inquire, my love?"
She hesitated. "No, papa, not to inquire; mamma forbade my asking
questions."
"What _were_ you to do, then, Chrystal, since your mother wished to
know my sentiments?"
Christobelle hesitated again. She was not prepared for this close
investigation.
"Chrystal, whenever you speak, let it be strictly in truth, and with
open-heartedness; God and your father, my child, hate insincerity, and
untrue lips; speak without fear, and without evasion. What is this all
about?"
Christobelle became alarmed at her father's grave observation, and lost
all presence of mind; she repeated at once her mother's injunction.
"Papa, I was told to glean your intentions, without sentimentality,
that was all; only I don't know what 'glean' means."
"Go to bed, now, my dear child, and I will visit your mother," said her
father, in a melancholy tone of voice, which surprised her. "You and
I have a journey before us, Chrystal; the day after to-morrow we shall
set out for Brierly; you will be useful to Isabel, and improved by
Boscawen's society and tastes. Good night, and go to your bed, my love."
She went to her room, and slept soundly, innocent of wrong, and
ignorant of the scene which took place in her mother's room, in
consequence of her unfortunate disclosure. Christobelle was summoned to
Lady Wetheral's bed-side after breakfast; Clara was seated reading near
the window, and a small table covered with essence-bottles told her at
a glance there had been strife. Christobelle was accosted with much
irony.
"Peacemakers are desirable people, Bell, and, doubtless, your heart is
enjoying the harmony you have created; pray advance, and behold your
delightful work. Am I quite as miserable as you wish, Christobelle? or
have you any little poisoned arrow to apply, by way of completing my
distress? Pray do me the honour to inform me what my next annoyance
shall be!"
Christobelle stood in astonishment; her mother was very seldom bitter
in her remarks.
"I suppose you are not aware you have procured the dismissal of Sir
Foster Kerrison, and may, probably, be the cause of your sister taking
strong steps to assert herself. I suppose you are not aware you have
made her and myself wretched, by your stupid matter of fact!"
Lady Wetheral laid down her salts bottle, and took up the vinaigrette;
Christobelle could only weep, and plead ignorance of all intention of
offending.
"Well, there's no help, now," continued her mother, changing her tone,
and resuming the language of complaint. "You have done mischief, and
you must endeavour to repair it. Your father intends to see Sir Foster
to-day, and I am too ill to interfere; he will be violent, I dare say,
for he has quite changed his nature, and his violence to me lately
has been extraordinary; I know he will forget himself, and offend Sir
Foster. Now, Bell, you must manage to place a slip of paper in Sir
Foster's hand as he leaves the room, and do not make such mistakes as
you generally contrive to do with your horrible matter of fact ways."
"There is no occasion for any slip of paper," observed Clara, without
raising her eyes from the book she held before her.
"My dear Clara, yes!" said her mother, in an earnest tone.
"I choose to manage my own affairs," was Clara's quiet reply.
"But, my love, my dear Clara, remember Sir Foster's wretched memory! he
requires some management!"
"I shall attend to all that is necessary," replied Clara.
"Well, my love, I ask no questions; indeed, I have no wish to
interfere; I have done all _I_ could do, in bringing Sir Foster to
propose, and you must guard your own property now. I ask no questions;
we will ask no questions, Bell; we will not be curious. I have neither
eyes nor ears, Clara; I have only sunny thoughts, bright visions of
Lady Kerrison presiding at Ripley, in spite of appearances; but, Bell,
you must be blind: with all your might, remember; no more mistakes,
if you please, and you may be of some use; you are too old to affect
ignorance now, and I cannot excuse it."
Christobelle was in a tremor; for the sentences which flowed in such
profusion from her mother's lips, conveyed no meaning to her mind;
she was anxious to do right, but no distinct line of conduct had been
pointed out; she told her mother steadily, yet in considerable alarm,
that she did not know what was meant.
"I dare say not, Bell; your ideas are as limited as your poor
father's, and I can imagine your influence over his mind must be very
extensive--the confluence of dullness and stupidity. However, Bell, you
can, probably, comprehend what I mean, when I command you to keep all
you see and hear to yourself."
"Yes, mamma, I can do that."
"Very well. If you find Sir Foster Kerrison at any time about the
premises, don't see him; and, whatever may take place around you, be
ignorant of all things. Can you do this?"
"I will not say any thing to papa, unless he asks a question," replied
Christobelle, quite assured in mind that she was giving satisfaction at
last; her mother did not join her in opinion.
"Nonsense, folly! you have not common sense to guide you through life,
child. Thank Heaven, the burden of procuring _you_ an establishment
will not be upon my shoulders! Your father must manage that affair as
he pleases; he takes the whole management of you upon himself. Your
wretched matter-of-fact ways would traverse all my plans for your
benefit."
Christobelle was wrong again! She never could understand her mother's
innuendoes, and she told her so, though she trembled as the words
fell hesitating from her lips. She told her, also, that she could not
comprehend the epithet "matter-of-fact," which she continually used
with reference to her conduct. Alas! the explanation was to the artless
girl equally unintelligible.
"You have no capacity, Bell, or you would understand the meaning of
that expression. Your sisters were not matter-of-fact, unless, perhaps,
Mrs. Tom Pynsent might be considered so; but time would have improved
her; _you_ are past hope. Nothing is so matter-of-fact, as believing
every thing you hear, and answering questions point-blank. Nothing can
be so cruelly matter-of-fact, as telling people exactly what you think,
and making remarks upon people's movements. I believe matter-of-fact
is born with you, and I can perceive no intuition, no tact in your
manners, by which to imagine a germ might be fostered by practice. You
will be very like your grand aunt, Bell, and like her, too, you will
live single. I have no hopes from such mental poverty."
Clara appeared absorbed in her book, for she never raised her eyes,
or joined in the conversation which related to her sister. After her
haughtily expressed determination to be guided by her own judgment,
she remained silent, nor did she apparently hear a word that passed
between her mother and Christobelle. Time was, certainly, fostering the
"germ" of resolution in Clara's breast; and now that circumstances and
events developed her character, it was easy to see she had shaken off
all restraints, and intended to hold the reins in her own youthful and
inexperienced hands. Lady Wetheral felt her power was no more, if it
had ever existed, over Clara's opinions and conduct; and she detained
her youngest daughter to listen to her grievances.
"Altogether, Bell, what with your dullness, and Clara's temper, I
have never been happy since your sisters married. I have endured a
great deal from your father's violence, too, lately; last night he was
indescribably violent, and I am sinking into ill-health. He is resolved
Clara shall not be Lady Kerrison, and he has ordered the poor dear man
to be shown into the study when he calls to-day. Do be there, Bell, and
report the whole affair; you surely have just capacity for that?"
"Report _nothing_," said Clara, without raising her eyes from her book.
"My dear Clara, you really shock me!" Her mother laid down her
vinaigrette, and took up the eau-de-luce. "My dear girl, you frighten
me with such abrupt and alarming sentences. Do you not intend to marry
Sir Foster Kerrison?"
"Of course I do," replied Clara, haughtily.
"Then, my love, why do you forbid Bell reporting his interview with
your father?"
"I hate all that nonsense and tale-bearing; let Bell alone; why is she
to be taught eavesdropping?"
"Really, Clara, you are becoming quite harsh. I certainly never taught
any of you to do wrong, unless procuring the best alliances for you all
is considered an injury. I cannot approve your remark, my dear love, at
all."
Miss Wetheral did not reply.
"I cannot make out Clara's temper, Bell," whispered her mother, "there
is nothing to be _got at_ in her; I never can have any influence, when
I particularly wish to point her attention to circumstances; however,
I must let her take her own way, for she means to marry Sir Foster, I
see, and my mind is fixed upon that match. Well, I shall rise, now, but
I am seriously ill from your father's imperious conduct last night."
"I am very sorry, mamma."
"Sorry! Yes, it was your stupid folly which caused such an unprovoked
attack. When Clara marries, I shall visit my dear Julia: her situation,
so exalted, and the novelty of a new neighbourhood, will amuse me. You
can take care of Sir John while I am absent. Perhaps, Bell, I may see
some young man who may do for you some six years hence."
"No, I thank you, mamma."
"Oh, do not be alarmed," exclaimed Lady Wetheral, a little indignantly,
"I am not going to trouble myself about your fortunes. You can return
to the study: don't tumble over the chairs, Bell. You are at that
awkward, ugly age, all legs and wings--there, get you gone."
Christobelle was very well pleased to escape, for she ever dreaded
a summons to her mother's apartments. She might be awkward, and
her countenance might be displeasing, but her father never alluded
to personal appearance. His voice breathed accents of kindness and
affection, and he only taught her to be good and dutiful. To his study
she retired, as to the home of her happiness, and she was there when
Sir Foster Kerrison was announced, according to Sir John's orders. Lucy
Kerrison had kept her word--she had indeed reminded her father of his
_devoir_ at Wetheral Castle.
Sir Foster stood somewhat bewildered, at his entrance: he had been
marshalled to the right instead of the left, upon alighting, and
he was now ushered into a large room filled with books, instead of
work-baskets and ladies. Altogether, without the trouble of reasoning
upon the matter, or exactly perceiving how things were, Sir Foster
felt something was different from what it had been: the chain of daily
events at Wetheral was broken; he had got into a different line of
action, without knowing why, or how it had been effected. Sir Foster's
embarrassment, however, was only perceived in the nervous motion of
his eye, and the tapping of his boot; for, in despite of the unhappy
absence of mind, which indolence had nurtured, and which ever produced
ridicule, his manners were those of an eccentric but polite man.
Sir John Wetheral received him with gravity, but with kindness, and,
after a few observations had passed upon the state of crops and the
weather, he commenced the subject near his heart. Sir Foster sat in
silent reverie while Sir John poured forth his regret at an engagement
having been entered into with his daughter without his concurrence;
he spoke feelingly upon the deception which had surrounded that
engagement, and expressed his entire disapproval of the match. Sir
Foster smiled and winked, as allusion was made to the known violence of
his temper; and he tapped his boot with rapid strokes, when Sir John
professed his more powerful objections arose from his constant absence
at the house of prayer.--"If," he said, "a man cared not to pray to his
Maker, he would never heed the happiness of a creature committed to
his care; and he would rather follow his child to the grave, than give
her to a man who had no respect to earthly or heavenly things--whose
passions were violent, and whose faith was unsettled."
Sir Foster had nothing to say in extenuation, if he really understood
the purport of the address; but he looked perfectly innocent of all
charges, or of having attached any meaning to the sounds which reached
his ear. Sir John remembered Sir Foster's besetting sin, and accosted
him again with decision, as Lady Wetheral had done in a similar
situation, though upon a different subject.
"Sir Foster, I forbid your visits to my daughter Clara."
Sir Foster raised his eyebrows, but he understood the sentence: it was
clear and concise.
"Eh?--yes, certainly, if Lady Wetheral does not mind."
"I am afraid, sir, Lady Wetheral has given you encouragement in this
affair."
"Umph!--ah!--yes; something of that sort."
"I must insist upon ending the engagement, Sir Foster."
"Eh!--what? Yes, if you like."
There was a silence for some moments; it was broken by Sir Foster, in
apparently complete forgetfulness of the preceding subject.
"Boscawen keep his blood mare?"
Sir John smiled, as he replied in the affirmative. Sir Foster began to
wink his eye violently.
"Give him two hundred for her."
Sir John mentioned his intended visit to Brierly, and offered to be the
bearer of his message or intentions.
"Go with you."
"Ripley does not lie far out of our way; shall I call for you, Sir
Foster? We shall be happy to offer you a seat in or outside the
carriage, which you please."
Sir Foster smiled and hummed, which, according to Lucy Kerrison's
reading, implied consent; they were therefore to have the pleasure of
his company on their journey. Sir John would not feel annoyed by the
accession of a taciturn companion; Sir Foster would, at least, be out
of Clara's neighbourhood, and, what was more satisfactory, he would be
beyond the reach of his lady's machinations.
After this arrangement, Sir Foster remained two hours, silently smiling
in his chair, without changing his position, or appearing to feel the
absence of his so lately affianced bride. Once initiated in another
suite of apartments, it was more than likely he would, in future, seek
the study as naturally as he had made his _sederunt_ in the boudoir;
but the proposed journey must interfere with his plans, and force them
into other channels. Brierly and the blood-mare had present possession
of his memory, and, unless they sank into the oblivious depths of his
lethargic mind, Sir Foster was destined to become a millstone round
the energies of Mr. Boscawen, and Clara must relinquish all hope of
securing her fleeting lover.
Sir John was aware of his companion's eccentric habits, therefore his
studies were quietly resumed, and Sir Foster was allowed to smile
and doze out his allotted time in his own peculiar way. Happiness is
very differently defined by individuals: Sir Foster considered it
enjoyed in a long course of half-dreamy nothingness, seated in a soft
arm-chair, tapping his boot, and not bored by questions or remarks:
Mrs. Hancock and Mrs. Pynsent loved locomotion, and considered life
given as a means of enjoyment in talking, walking, driving, laughing,
and "fun:" Sir John Wetheral loved retirement with books: his lady
confessed she delighted in matchmaking, and visiting different
watering-places: yet do we know and feel happiness is not of this
world; and our enjoyments prove, in the end, the highway to trials and
cares.
Sir Foster Kerrison, at length, awoke from his long calm, and put on
his hat. Christobelle was reading aloud to her father, but she became
silent at this moment, which denoted preparation for departure. Sir
Foster did not observe this; probably he did not see them, for he
rose humming an air, and, winking very nervously, looked attentively
at a portrait of "Eclipse," and walked deliberately out of the study.
This was Sir Foster's "odd way," and no one ever took offence at any
thing Sir Foster did or said. Sir John only remarked, in his gentle
way, "Clara's idea of Sir Foster's temper may not coincide with
mine--a young girl cannot understand how deeply her husband's temper
may implicate her happiness--but I am astonished at her taste, in
selecting a man whose manners must disgust a delicate woman, and
who has already forgotten his dismissal, in anxiety to purchase a
blood-mare at Brierly. I fear Clara is dazzled by motives which blind
her to truth. I will take you to Brierly, my love, to-morrow: I long to
get you away from this place."
When Christobelle passed through the chapel to reach her own room, she
saw Clara and Sir Foster Kerrison walking in the avenue: she could not
be mistaken; the chapel-window commanded the avenue, and Clara was
seen distinctly. She appeared in very earnest conversation: Sir Foster
led his horse by the bridle-rein, and Christobelle thought one arm was
round Clara's waist. She remembered her mother's injunction "not to
see" Sir Foster if she met him upon the premises; and she obeyed the
spirit of her meaning, for she made no observation respecting what she
had seen. Clara appeared at dinner perfectly calm and collected, and
her spirits were higher than usual: she had not the pale cheek, or
monumental look, which Shakespeare describes so pathetically--there was
no sign that
"He she loved proved false, and did forsake her."
All was tranquil health and untamed spirits in Clara's beautiful face.
Christobelle persuaded herself she could _not_ have seen her sister in
the avenue, and that she was yet ignorant of Sir Foster's intention
to accompany them to Brierly, and bid high for the blood-mare. When
the family separated for the night, Lady Wetheral coolly wished her
youngest daughter a happy meeting with her friends at Brierly: she
should not be up, and begged Christobelle would not rattle at her door
with her awkward fingers, under pretence of leave-taking. She was to
give her love to Mrs. Boscawen, and bid her remember the baize-door for
the nursery.
Clara advanced and kissed her sister: she spoke laughingly.
"You need not visit my room, Bell, to-morrow, because I shall be very
busy; but I wish you lots of happiness, if there is such material at
Brierly. How long do you remain?"
"Papa says, till you are all at Fairlee."
"Oh, well, a happy meeting to us all at Fairlee; but, Bell, before we
meet again,
"'I'm o'er the border, and awa'
Wi' Jock o' Hasledean!'
"You don't understand me? Never mind--I don't think I shall like
Fairlee. How you stare, Miss Bell!"
Christobelle did look surprised: she could not understand Clara's
gaiety upon her lover's dismissal. She retired to her room, however,
and lost all recollections, in deep and sweet slumber, both of the past
and present.